


Aftermath

by scarebeastly



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Character Mentions, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 09:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12981405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarebeastly/pseuds/scarebeastly
Summary: Another day rises on another failure. Life goes on, even for a Scarecrow.





	Aftermath

     He awoke on the outskirts of Gotham. _Again,_ he sighed to himself. He stood, brushing the dirt off of his clothes. As he began to straighten himself up, fix his hair, he paused. His costume was still on. Old burlap, frayed and fallen-apart. Just like everything else. Worn leather shoes, half-secured costumes stolen from whatever he could find. When in the world did things fall to _this_ , of all things? Things were going exactly as planned. And then the Batman came. He growled to himself. He always ruined things. Another night of science, of _progress_ , ruined by the Bat.

  
     How in the world did the Bat figure his plan out this time? He certainly didn’t leave behind any sort of meaningless clue, like Edward did. Nor did he have a gimmick or whatever Two-Face had. Then again, he was the only person he knew who actually had a plan with his villainy. He paced around for a moment, before realizing that one, only he would try to steal from the Gotham Chemical Plant, and two, he was still in costume. He glanced at the sky and around. The sun was rising. Nobody in sight. At least, for now, he was safe.

  
     The masked criminal removed his hat and pulled off the burlap covering his face, revealing a sight never expected for any villainous sort. He was handsome in an unconventional way, in the same ways a king would be. In another world, perhaps he was as great as a king, but not in this one. In this world, he was just a man, a man who looked perpetually weary, a man with vaguely auburn, lengthy hair, a man who just so happened to carry himself like royalty. He set off at once to the nearest safe-house.

  
     It was an old house, albeit rigged by Edward (and Jervis, probably) to have more modern furnishings on the inside. It was good enough to recover in. It was lovingly decorated with a meticulous hand, although the dust gathered on the furnishings told him that it was last arranged long ago. Well, in the very least, that meant he was alone. There would be no-one to taunt him for his loss.  
     “Well, Jonathan,” he spoke to himself.  
          “Welcome home.”


End file.
